Birds of a Feather
by Symphonic Din
Summary: After everything, Kira is still struggling to control the fox within her. When Stiles says he can help, she suspects that the Nogitsune may not be gone for good. In light of this, the pack has to make some touch choices, and those choices only get tougher after a new group of hunters- a coalition that rides under their own banner for their own causes- roll into town.
1. Foxing

"C'mon, Kira. You can do this."

Scott stood across from her, braced for the next blow. They'd reserved the school's boxing ring after hours just for this; Kira, brandishing a blunted practice sword. Him in his lacrosse gear, well equipped to take whatever she could dish out.

"Don't think about it, just hit me again."

Kira's striking stance didn't waver, but she didn't move. "Scott, I really don't—"

"Kira," Scott's voice was empathetic, earnest, "I trust you. You've got to learn control. We all had to. I had Stiles chuck lacrosse balls at me when I was first starting out—it's all about learning control in a controlled environment." He nodded at her, inviting her to charge. "I'm your controlled environment."

At that, Kira steeled up. Her brows drew together in focus, but ticked up in the slightest right before they dared to meet. Uncertainty. It wrought a direct but frail swing of her sword, ending in a dull thud when it made contact with Scott's block. When she didn't follow up, Scott straightened up.

"You can't control it if you don't have access to it—to that part of yourself, I mean. You have to really get into it, like it's a real fight."

"But it's not." Kira said back, shoulders slumped, "You're just standing there, looking like a lacrosse superstar, and all I'm doing is hitting you with a stick."

"What if I try to hit you back?" Scott asked, taking his helmet off to reveal sweat-slicked hair. As slow and tedious as their sparring had been, working out in full gear was a sweaty nightmare. "I'm not good with a sword, but it might kick-start your mojo."

From over on the bleachers, Stiles chipped in. "Dude, don't call it mojo. No one says mojo." He, like Scott, was armored up in his school's colors. He had a half downed bottle of water in one hand and his helmet in the other, and was considerably more sweaty than either of them.

Scott looked over at him, "Plenty of people say mojo." Back to Kira, "Right? Tell him plenty of people say mojo."

Kira gave a noncommittal nod-shrug, "Maybe?"

Scott made a huff that fell somewhere between amused and exasperated, "Alright, alright—sounds like you caught your breath," He looked to Stiles, shooting him a challenge disguised as a smirk. "Ready to tag back in?"

"Are you kidding me?" He ran a hand through his hair and it stuck where he left it, "You forget: I don't have crazy werewolf stamina- as fun as that's gotta be." He looked between the two of them, and then finished the rest of his water.

Scott missed the joke, but Kira was so embarrassed she had to look away.

Stiles stood up as he set his empty bottle down, "But I can go another round." He stepped into the ring, and Scott patted him on the shoulder in passing to take his seat on the bleachers.

Stiles got himself ready, standing stern to take whatever Kira had to dish out. "You got this," He said it aloud quietly, and whether it was to Kira or for himself was up in the air. "Youuu got this."

Kira took up her stance again, but there was another awkwardly long stalemate before she relaxed. "I can't just hit you."

"Sure you can," Stiles nodded, "You've been doing it all afternoon."

"No, I mean… it's not doing anything. I don't feel it—I don't feel the kitsune. I think Scott's right. You have to fight back."

"Oh—oh, yeah. Alright." Stiles stood up properly, looking around before leaning over the side of the ring to grab one of the firm foam rods off the equipment rack. "We'll try Scott's idea, make it a fair fight. Your sword against a foam noodle. Y'know, give you that real adrenaline rush." He rolled it around in his hand, waving it at her like a pool noodle.

It was, in fact, a metal rod cased in foam, so it didn't have much give at all.

Kira smiled at him, just barely, and took her stance. Stiles's response was to call upon every kung-foo movie he'd ever seen and pull something together. It was laughably bad.

Kira took the first swing, though it was weak. It hit Stiles's shoulder guard, and he stumbled a bit, "Come on, Kira. Bring it on! I've got enough padding on me to take a tackle from an entire NFL team. You couldn't hurt me if you really tried."

"I doubt that," She tried to smile—it was a joke, after all—but it came off as sad.

"Come onnnn," He brandished the rod, tapping her shoulder in an attempt to annoy her to action, "I'm touching you. Boom. Boom."

She used her blade to deflect his, rolling them both to lean to the left, and Stiles barely managed to keep a grip on his weapon. Kira twirled next, her blunt blade coming within inches of Stiles who'd stepped back just in time.

A quick swipe from above followed and Stiles shut his eyes, fully expecting the force to ring his head in his helmet.

Before he realized he'd forgotten to put his helmet back on.

A full second passed before he realized that nothing was happening, and when he opened his eyes again, he saw Kira's dulled blade caught on the rod. Barely an inch from his nose.

Kira's eyes were deeply focused, locked with his, and Stiles's brows were sky high.

Scott clapped once from the bleachers, "Nice block!"

Kira broke their stalemate, stepping back with a more open, more agile stance. Stiles stepped back, too, but was just as formless as before.

Kira's moves came faster this time, a set of four. It was measured, controlled, practiced, but much more serious than before. Stiles fumbled in response, driven back with each consecutive blow, but he managed to keep her from getting a hit in.

Kira only got more aggressive from there. A combo of four became a combo of eight, then twelve. Her control never wavered, but her speed—her speed rose exponentially. Scott could hear her blade cutting through the air, and stood to stand near the edge of the ring in anticipation of what might come next. Stiles had volunteered to help her learn control, but if she lost it—well, Scott would have to step in.

But Stiles kept up with her. As her offense became more direct, more lethal, his defense became more and more solid. Effortless.

In Scott's eyes, it looked like Stiles's skill rivaled Kira's.

"Fight back," Kira demanded, her Japanese as flawless as her golden eyes, "Fight back!"

Scott saw the look on her face, and leaned over the side of the ring. "Kira—Kira, you've got to control this. You've got to stay in control."

Stiles took advantage of the interim to stand properly, mirroring the circle Kira was walking. Neither he nor Kira seemed to be listening to what Scott had to say.

Kira's blade buzzed through the air as she leapt at him, a snarl on her lips, and Stiles dropped so quickly Scott thought he'd fallen, but—

His back hit the ground, but he rolled with the momentum and was back on his feet in the same second. He took his first swing at Kira, and she only barely managed to dodge. She looked ecstatic, enthralled, and the fighting paused again.

Stiles looked much more concentrated, much more collected, but his eyes were dark. "Since you asked so nicely."

His Japanese, like Kira's, was perfect and sharp. He took off the gear on his arms, letting it fall to the floor of the ring.

Scott tried to process what he'd heard, trying to match Stiles's words with anything familiar. He heard the gear hit the floor with painful intensity, and it felt like all the moisture had been taken out of the air. It was one of the most severe chills Scott had felt in his entire life—it was the feeling right before a lightning strike.

Kira's smile was toothy, not her own.

Scott knew something was wrong. It was a sense he'd long since learned not to ignore, and he stepped into the ring to break them up. "Okay, we're done. Kira, calm d—"

Kira approached him quickly, taking him by the front of the shirt, "Stay out of this, wolf-boy."

She threw him with remarkable force, sending him clear out of the ring. His back hit the wood floor with an agonizingly dull thud, and it echoed through the whole of the facility.

Stiles watched it happen, but looked back to Kira with indifference. They locked eyes again, fiery gold against amber.

"I knew you lived," Kira said, their menacing mutual circling beginning again, "I prayed you lived, so that I could have the thrill and honor of ending you myself."

She lunged forward with renewed vigor, shouting with each cut of her blade. None made contact with Stiles, but each swing bit away more of the foam covering his weapon. Their pace rose and rose, metal hitting metal at inhuman speed.

It was that clanging noise that brought Scott back to reality. He sat up slowly, shaking his head out, and got to his feet as quickly as he could.

He was greeted by his best friend trying to bludgeon his girlfriend to death. Kira's eyes were on fire, her voice a roar, and Stiles's movements were curt, bursts of energy and violence. It strained his eyes to follow them.

As far as Scott knew, Stiles was athletically incompetent. What was happening—what he was seeing—should have been impossible.

Even more so when he saw Stiles knock Kira's blade out of her hands with an impressively complex parry, followed by a sidestep that landed him behind her. He took the rod to the back of her knees in a pointed arc, driving her to kneel.

Both of them were breathing hard, but Kira seemed resigned. She held her head high, "You win."

Stiles swung the rod so it rested against her throat, his hands on either end. His voice was so low that only she could hear, "You thought you had a chance?"

"Finish it."

There was tension in the air, the threat that Stiles would pull back and hold, but it wasn't broken. They stayed there, Stiles's words the only thing breaking the stagnant air.

"No, I don't think I will." He said, voice barely above a whisper, "Our kind has to stick together, after all."


	2. Weird With Emphasis

All at once, Stiles backed off. The rod came away from Kira's neck, twirling twice before he let the end rest on the floor at his side. He offered her a hand in the next second, but before either could move, Scott was in the ring.

He stood between them, looking from one to the other in anticipation of the next move, who's wrist he'd have to stay, but it was over. The tension was gone.

Kira only looked at him for a second before focusing on Stiles who standing behind him. "You're a good actor," She was furious, speaking through her teeth.

Stiles broke eye contact by sliding back directly behind Scott, nervous, confused, "I'm just—yeah, gunna let you take care of that." He patted Scott on the shoulder, "Yeah."

Kira bared her teeth, moving to stand. "Only a coward would deny his opponent death after defeat."

"Kira," Scott put a hand on her shoulder, trying to get her to look him in the eyes, "Kira, look at me."

She refused, gaze chasing Stiles around Scott's back, "You're breaking the rules of the game. Why?"

Behind Scott, where he couldn't be seen by anyone other than Kira, he barely smirked. It was a knowing smirk, a nonverbal promise. Of what, Kira—or rather, the Kitsune—didn't know.

Confident that Kira wasn't about to lunge at him given how fixated she was on Stiles and how physically exhausted she appeared to be from the match, Scott dug through his pocket and tried to pull out his phone. He'd been trying to learn bits and pieces of Japanese from Kira's parents to better handle and understand situations like this, but he was far from fluent.

Thankfully, google translate had him covered. He kept on hand on Kira's shoulder, keeping her grounded, while his other worked to open the app.

If he could even catch a bit of what she was saying, maybe it would help them help her.

"Why!?" She snarled, still speaking to Stiles, "Coward!"

Scott's phone spat it back out at him in English, and then Kira's eyes began to fade back to their beautiful, deep black. She blinked furiously, trying to place herself and the time, and then turned away with a shake of her head. "It happened again, didn't it?" She found Scott's eyes, their empathetic turn answer enough.

"It's okay. You can't expect to have it under control right away—your mom said it'd take weeks, or months."

"Or years," Kira tacked on, dejected.

Set on loop, Scott's phone spit out the translation again. "What's that?" Kira asked, glancing towards the phone in his hand.

Stiles, now confident enough to step out of Scott's shadow, decided to explain. "That's what you were saying. That and some other stuff, I think."

"Yeah, I didn't get it all." Scott turned the audio off, stuffing it back into his pocket.

"Who was I talking to?" She looked between the two of them, "What happened?"

"You and Stiles—" Scott shook his head, not sure he could even properly recount what he'd seen, "You went at it. And—Stiles, how did you do that?"

Stiles shrugged, absolutely baffled, "I dunno. Reflexes, maybe? I do get a lot of practice fighting for my life. Maybe I should pick up fencing." He tossed the flayed foam sword up, spinning what was left. It fell to the floor with an awkward clank, and he exhaled. "Orrrr not."

"No, dude, I felt something in the air while you and Kira were fighting. Like when we went to New Mexico. You remember that? When we saw that storm?"

"Oh, yeah. Chills." Stiles shivered, "It felt like we were going to get struck by lightning."

"Yes! Yeah, exactly." He pointed at Stiles; he was right on the money, "It felt like I could hear everything, like time was all… foggy."

"You ever think of picking up poetry?" Stiles asked, "You've got some real existential metaphors going on."

"Look, I'm just saying it was weird." Scott insisted, "What do we say about weird in Beacon Hills?"

There was a moment of silence, punctuated by Scott looking between the two of them for an answer. "…Do we have a saying for that?" Kira asked,

Stiles pursed his lips, shaking his head after a moment of deliberation.

"We say… it's weird," Scott finished. "When something's weird in Beacon Hills, it's weird."

"So, weird with emphasis." Stiles summarized.

"Weird with emphasis," Scott echoed back, like it was a good way to set the saying up.

"It could've been the fox," Kira pitched, "It's a lightning spirit."

"No, it was different. I know what that feels like. You're like static. This was like fog." Scott looked around the gym as he said it, straining his ears for anything amiss; an extra heartbeat, a wayward breath, but all he picked up on were the two standing beside him and his own. Kira's was pumping hard, and Stiles's was dead even.

His nose went to work next out of habit, looking for anything his eyes and ears missed, and he could still tell there was something off. It was infuriatingly impossible to place.

The gym door opening shattered his concentration, and heels against wood was all it took to place the newcomer.

Lydia, who didn't dare walk any farther into the gym evidenced by the wrinkle in her nose, stood in the doorway with her hand on her hip. She'd recovered beautifully, but it was hidden underneath the mask of makeup she wore to fool other students into thinking she'd never been broken.

"God, it smells gross in here. Are you almost done?"

"Just finished," Scott turned to exit the ring, "What's going on?"

He said it like he was expecting terrible news, a problem he'd have to rise to defeat.

"Uh, Bio review. Six P.M. with Dr. Sardona, remember?" She cocked a brow, and Scott looked at her blankly. "For the test on Monday?"

Scott sprang into action all at once, "Oh, crap! Crap," He rushed to put his things in his bag, taking off all the extra padding with practiced efficiency, "What time is it?"

"Five fifty-two." She kept the door open with her heel, "I saved you a seat."

"Why are you going to an AP Bio review?" Stiles asked, leaning over the ring's ropes, "Didn't you finish that freshman year?"

"I'm tutoring," She smirked, "And Dr. Sardona told me that she's holding me specifically accountable if Scott doesn't walk out of there with a five."

Scott shouldered his bag, sweaty and apologetic, "Sorry, Kira. Are you sure you're okay? I can—"

"No, no, go. You've got this." She gave him a thumbs up and a nod, "We'll close up here."

"Thank you so sososo much," He doubled back to give her a kiss and then hurried to meet Lydia.

"What, nothing for me?" Stiles asked, "Just when you think you're past 'no homo' with a guy, am I right?"

Kira rolled her eyes with a smile, "Come on, Stiles. Let's get all this gym gear put away."

Before they got working, Stiles hopped into Coach's office to put some music on. It made things move faster, and the two of them made a game into getting the runaway sports gear into bins on beat. Before long, Kira was back to smiling.

It took them nearly an hour to move everything back into place; it was the price they had to pay for using the gym after hours. All the bleachers had to be pushed in, the floor had to be swept, and the two raced each other to the end of every task. When everything was in place, the two of them took one last breather with their backs against the floor of the boxing ring.

"I almost," Stiles started, having to pause every few beats to breathe, "Got you, on the sweeping."

"I lapped you twice," She turned her head towards him, "No contest."

Stiles let out a breathy laugh, and the two stayed there until the cool of the mat sunk deep enough into their backs.

"Y'know," Stiles turned to look at Kira this time, and Kira turned to look at him, "I know what you're going through with that… other, uh, thing—the other part of you—I know it's tough. And I'm not saying it to be fake sympathetic or anything. I mean I know."

Kira wasn't used to talking to Stiles seriously one-on-one. Usually, when things were going well, she got Stiles: Master of Dry Humor. When they were in crisis, she knew Stiles: the Mastermind. So this? It was new.

She shook her head, looking back at the ceiling, "Scott says werewolves have to learn control, and he says he can help me do that, but I'm not a werewolf."

"You're a kitsune," Stiles looked at the ceiling, too. "Which is arguably more badass."

"It doesn't feel like it. I feel like a screw-up. I make things explode and ruin power-grids, and sometimes I'm not even myself. It's like me and this…"

"Other thing, fighting to see who gets to walk around."

She sat up on her elbows, looking at him suspiciously. "Yeah."

He raised his palms, "What can I say? I've been there."

All at once, Kira realized what he was talking about—what he'd been talking about. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry—god, it feels like that was forever ago."

"Funny, feels like yesterday to me." He sat up fully, and all at once Kira felt like she was being looked at more seriously. "Can I tell you something?"

Kira sat up fully, too, feeling it appropriate for the turn the conversation had taken. "… What do you mean, 'tell me something'. You mean like you tell me something and I don't tell Scott?"

"I mean like tell you something and you don't tell anyone," He half-laughed, "But yeah, Scott too."

Kira's brow furrowed, and she focused on her hands resting in her lap for a moment. "I'm not going to lie to him."

"I didn't ask you to lie to him," Stiles clarified, "I'm just asking you not to say anything. If you tell him, things could get—yeah, bad." His leg started shaking the way it did when he got nervous, his fingers twining together like they were trying to weave a safety net. "It's not about him or anything. It's about you."

"….Okay," Now Kira was nervous, but for an entirely different reason. Usually, conversations that started out like that only ever ended one way and she didn't know if she could deal with being the reason Scott and Stiles fought—

Stiles took one more moment to consider taking it all back, biting his tongue, and Kira could feel it in the air.

"I can help you learn control."

"…You did. Today." Kira said it like it was obvious, confused, "That's why we came here."

"No—no. We came here so Scott could treat you like one of his first-moon Betas." He stood up, taking the few steps to pick up Kira's blunt and discarded practice sword, "Which, no news to anyone, you're not."

Kira watched him, still not following.

"You're a fox. Your mom tells you to keep all that power bottled up, like a lightning Molotov; obviously, bad, right? Scott thinks you can use it if you just learn self-control, which you can't because you don't think the fox is you."

He let the sword spin once, so fast Kira could hear it. He let it go and caught it by the blade, offering her the hilt inches from her nose.

"It's a tricky situation."

Kira's heart was beating against her rib cage, and she stood slowly. The way he was carrying himself radiated confidence not present nearly two minutes ago. The way he worked that sword—her sword—so deftly, the feeling in the air-

"So," He flipped the sword so he had the handle again, understanding she wasn't going to take it, "Let me give you a third option—you ready to write this down?"

"Nogitsune," She whispered, almost too quiet to hear her own voice.

"Y'know," He tapped his fingers along the edge of the dull blade, "No one's even said that word in front of me since it- It's like they think if they don't talk about it, it didn't happen. Like Allison didn't happen, like Derek didn't happen, like Jackson and everyone and everything else we want to forget didn't happen. But it did. Just like it's happening to you. And just like then, just like with me, all of us are going to do our damdest to save your rabid kitsune ass. But guess what?" He stepped closer to her, "You know what happens if they can't?"

Kira's shaking now, and she only lets herself look at the sword in Stiles's hand for a split second. He catches it and steps away, unwilling to take the risk.

"They'll act like you never happened. Sure, you might get—you might get a set of initials on some dusty bookcase in some high school no one will remember, but they'll never talk about you again."

He's saying it like it hurts, like he's on the brink of losing something.

"It's—it's terrifying, right?" He's back to empathetic, "As soon as you die—as soon as you're a failure—you're gone. You're gone forever. Or—this's worse, so much worse, you screw up. You screw up and get people hurt, you get people killed, and they'll forget about that, too, and you've got to live with it while they let it go."

Kira didn't know what to do. She saw Stiles, she heard Stiles, but she felt—

"I don't want that for you. I don't want that for anyone." He offers her the sword again, the blade turned down this time, "Let me help you."

Kira put her hand on the hilt above his, staying careful, deliberate. She could feel the energy in the sword; a frequency, a vibration, a hum.

"I'm me," Stiles insisted, "I promise."

Kira tried to pull the sword from Stiles's grasp, but he didn't let go.

"You don't believe me."


	3. Hesitation and Broken Bottles

He looked at her, eyes searching and intense for just a few seconds, and then he let the sword go in resignation. "Kira," He said it carefully, like he might startle her, "I'm trying to help you, okay?"

Kira held the hilt of the sword with a steel grip, looking at Stiles with her lips taught and brows drawn. She took a step backward and Stiles took one forward to match. "Kira, come on. At least let me explain, or—"

Another step back. Kira kept the sword at her side, not having the conviction to raise it against her friend in earnest.

Another step forward. Benign, closing in with tensed shoulders, worry.

Stiles opened his mouth to say something else, to explain, but Kira had already turned tail. Her sneakers squeaked against the wood of the gym floor, and the doors flew open as she shoved past them. She ran until she got back to the main building, the campus almost entirely empty, but stopped herself mere feet away from the door to Dr. Sardona's classroom.

It was quiet here. She could hear the voices beyond the door, the sound of the marker against the whiteboard, and it felt peaceful. Normal. If she opened this door, she would ruin it. How could this exist alongside the threat of what she'd just seen? How could both be reality?

She caught her breath slowly, leaving her hand hovering over the handle of the door as she looked inside. There was Lydia, pacing back and forth in front of a crowded room of AP Bio students. Scott, in the front row.

In that moment, Scott looked up from his notes towards the door. Kira pressed her black flat against the wall beside the entrance, letting her eyes close.

She didn't want to ruin it.

Things had just gotten back to normal, and it felt like she was the only problem left. Her lack of control. And now—

The door at the end of the hall slamming open broke her contemplation, and she felt her breath hitch in her throat when she saw it was Stiles.

"You—forgot—your bag," He was breathing hard, evidence he'd run, and looked just as exhausted as she'd have expected Stiles to be.

Her anxiety spiked. So did the brightness of the lights in the hallway.

There was silence from behind the door, and then a few laughs. Students expecting the lights to blow or go out, and then relieved when they didn't.

"Stay away from me," Kira warned, putting the sword between herself and Stiles. She was afraid; she was afraid of him, of herself, of the way the lights were fluctuating—"I'm going to tell Scott."

Scott, his hearing as sharp as ever, could hear the conversation through the door. His pencil sat stagnant on the page, and he cocked his head to focus.

"You can if you want," Stiles assured, "I was going to. Am going to, present tense. I just—I've been trying to figure out how, y'know? It's got—he's going to think what you're thinking right now, and I can't have him lose faith in me. I can't let that happen again. It'd break us apart."

"And I thought," Stiles continued, "If I could help you—if I could prove to you that I know what I'm doing, that I can help you, you'd… have my back."

The lights flickered again, and Stiles looked up as they went dark. "Plus, bonus for you, that might stop happening."

Kira shut her eyes, trying to focus, trying to think.

With the lights shot, the review couldn't carry on. When Dr. Sardona announced that they'd have a short make-up session the following Thursday as a preface to letting them out early, Scott was the first to the door. He was hoping to catch Kira and Stiles mid-conversation, and nearly hit Stiles with the door on his way out.

"What was that about?" He asked, looking at Kira (and assuming Stiles, who was behind the door, had moved along).

"The lights? I—sorry, I'm…" She looked at Stiles through the glass pane of the door, "Still geared up from our match."

"Dude, ow." Stiles leaned out from behind the door, "Almost broke my nose there."

"No, not the lights." He moved out of the way for the other students to leave, corralling Kira and Stiles off to the side near the lockers, "I heard you through the door—not that I was trying to like, invade your privacy or anything, but I picked it up—"

Stiles looked devastated, and tilted his head back towards the ceiling with a dejected huff of an exhale. "Werewolf hearing. Right."

"I thought we weren't doing secrets anymore," He looked between the two of them expectantly, "Whatever it is—whatever you don't want to tell me—"

"Ohhh my god, this isn't how I wanted to do this." Stiles ran a hand through his hair, looking at Scott now. He only glanced at Kira for a half-second, appraising her expression and the situation, and took a risk. A roll of the dice.

"I was just… okay, dude, I… I was just. Augh." He turned himself around once, "I like dudes, okay? I like dudes. I mean, I like girls too, that's—that's still a thing. And I—"

Scott laughed, barely shaking his head, "Oh my god, man, I thought something serious was happening. Kira sounded—"

"Yeah, she didn't take it well? Not her fault, I made it sound like it was about—you, when I was telling her, which it totally wasn't. And me saying that makes it sound like it totally was, but I swear to god—"

Now Scott was laughing, and put a hand on Stiles's shoulder, "Dude, me and your dad have been banking on this for like, three years. He asked me if you were gay when we were Freshmen. I said 'no way, man, Stiles is in love with Lydia'. And then Lydia didn't know you existed, and then we started hanging out with Derek, and—"

Kira stayed quiet throughout the exchange.

Stiles's gamble had paid off.

"Hookay, stop right there." Stiles cut him off, "So you knew—"

"Suspected."

Kira pulled her phone out of her pocket, and it caught Stiles's attention immediately. "My dad's texting me," She explained, putting her phone away again, "He's leaving, I've got to go."

"Oh, yeah—" Scott turned back to her, "We'll do this again next Friday. And dinner at my place on Saturday, right?"

"Right," She nodded, trying to act like everything was okay. She wasn't as good as it as she would've liked, and Scott picked up on it, but knew here was neither the time nor place to pry. "I'll see you guys, okay?"

Scott gave her a kiss on the cheek, and Stiles sent her off with a "Hey, text me."

The text from her dad had been a lie, and some part of Kira felt like Scott and Stiles knew it. They were both more perceptive than she'd have ever imagined, and the paranoia was only intensified now that she felt guilty for hiding something from Scott. She could have said something right then and there—she could have squared up and told Scott that the Nogitsune was standing beside him—but she hadn't. She wasn't sure. She wasn't confident that Stiles wasn't lying. And if she threw him under the bus, regardless of his true nature or intentions, she might just lose the only hope she had of learning to control herself.

And if she was being honest, she was desperate. Stiles was right. She couldn't control herself, she couldn't pull her weight, and it was only a matter of time before she got someone killed because she couldn't reign in her power.

The idea of being responsible for something like that only added to the tumult of confusion crashing through her mind.

She waited on the curb near her dad's car until he actually texted her, but when her phone went off, it wasn't her dad at all—it was Scott.

'Hey, that felt weird' the text read.

'You okay?'

She held her phone in both hands, not any less conflicted. On one hand, to lie now would be the start of keeping secrets—big secrets. Secrets that could really hurt people if it turned out she was wrong in trusting Stiles (the fact that she had to even question it was enough to make her feel terrible). On the other, if she told Scott and Stiles was telling the truth, he'd probably do everything in his power to put the Nogitsune to rest for good, which could be disastrous if Stiles was telling the truth and could help her learn control.

A second later, another message popped up on her screen. This time from Stiles.

'Thanks for not saying anything to Scott.'

'I owe you one.'

Kira bit her lip, reading both sets of messages several times, and her distress didn't go unnoticed by her dad when he walked up.

"Kira?" He asked, waving his hand in front of her face, "How long have you been waiting here? You should've texted me."

She shook herself out of her worrying, moving to stand so she could take her seat on the passenger side of the car. "Sorry, I didn't… I was thinking about other things."

"Looked like it. What's on your plate? Maybe I can help." He went around and took the driver's seat, "Contrary to popular belief, I was a teenager once too."

She slumped back in the chair, still flipping through her phone. "If you had to choose between something dangerous that might get you something you want more than anything or playing it safe, what would you pick?"

"Mmm, that's a tough one." He backed out, focusing on the road, "Can you give me more specifics?"

"…Say that you could get to the top of the class if you trust one of your classmates to help you study, but the classmate might have probably been to jail. And you aren't sure if you can trust him to help you study without… cheating. And it could get you in trouble. But you aren't sure, because you know he lies—or he used to lie, but doesn't anymore. You really want to get to the top of the class because if you don't you can't get into college."

"But if you don't trust him to help you study, you aren't guaranteed to pass the class at all. You have a lot of friends that are trying to help you, but none of them are teaching you in a way that makes sense. Plus, if you don't trust him, you have to report him for cheating because even though you're not sure he's cheating, you know a lot of people will get hurt if he is. Does that make sense?"

Her dad frowned, trying to put it together. "Not really. But as your father, I'll offer you some tired and tried advice; slow and steady always wins the race. There aren't any fast tracks through life, Kira. Especially not for a kitsune." He gave her a knowing look, "What do you feel is right?"

She took a moment to think, flipping back and forth between the conversations in her phone. "What I feel is right and what I want aren't the same thing."

"Ah, so it's an adult decision," he nodded, "That happens a lot, believe it or not. It comes down to responsibility. If trusting this cheater doesn't work out, if everything goes wrong, will you be able to look back and say trusting him was the responsible thing to do?"

"…No," She admitted, tapping back to the conversation she had going with Scott. Her thumb hovered over the call button, and she sighed.

"What?" Her dad asked, glancing away from the road for just a fraction of a second.

"It's just—it feels like everything's getting back to normal around here. As normal as Beacon Hills can be, I guess, and if I… If I out the cheater, things won't be normal anymore. Scott has to study for his AP exams, Lydia is just filling out so many college applications, Malia just finished dealing with her mom—"

They came to a red light.

"I don't want to ruin that for them."

"Kira, maybe you should just tell me what's going on. No metaphors this time."

She set her phone down on her lap, "Today, while I was in the gym with Scott and Stiles, the fox—my fox—came out. I don't remember what happened, I still can't control it, but Stiles… he fought me. He was in the ring with me, and Scott said he matched every swing of my sword."

"Okay," Her dad nodded, following along, "That's weird, but—"

"No, listen, he—he said he could help me learn control. He said he could help me learn how to control that part of me, and that- I could feel it in the air—that fog. The Nogitsune."

The light turned green. Kira's dad didn't budge.

"That's… not possible."

The car behind them honked, and their car jolted forward like it was surprised.

"Kira, that's not possible." Her dad reiterated, struggling to focus on the road. "The Nogitsune is gone."

"It's a trickster," Kira reminded him, "and a good actor. I know what I felt. He was using a sword just as well as me."

"We have to call Mr. Stilinski." Her dad started, mind running a mile a minute, "And Scott. Maybe your mom will know more—"

"Dad, no, wait," Kira interrupted, "he said he wasn't… possessed. He said he was in control."

"Oh, I'm sure he said a lot of things. I'm sure he's been saying a lot of things." Her dad sounded mad now, speech articulated and crisp against the rev of the accelerator, "If that demon is still out there, then Beacon Hills is in more danger than it's ever been in before."

* * *

Scott looked down at his phone, waiting for it to show that Kira was typing back. He was riding on the passenger side of Stiles's jeep with the window down—the sun had set, and they were on their way to pick up some fast food from one of the dives closer to the vets office where Scott still worked. The radio played gently between the two of them, and Scott let his hand hang out over the bare road.

He let his senses spread out over the car, over the road, over the buildings and into the night. His town, his home, his to protect.

But, just like earlier, something was wrong. It was killing him trying to place it, what was out of place, why it set him on edge so badly—

"You hear anything from Kira?" Stiles asked, turning into the parking lot for the dump of a restaurant, "She seemed kind of… I don't know, shaken up."

"Yeah, I got that too." He admitted, "I think losing control scares her."

"Doesn't it scare you, too?" Stiles asked, letting the jeep sputter into silence once they parked, "Maybe not anymore, but it used to. When you were just starting out."

Scott leaned back in his chair, nodding. "Yeah. Yeah, it did. I just wish there was somebody around to help Kira. Her mom's the only kitsune we know, and sometimes I think she doesn't have any idea what she's doing."

"No kidding. The skinwalker thing was a little…"

"Crazy," Scott finished for him, getting out of the car, "Kira's going to be able to handle it. I know it. She just needs a little more confidence in herself."

"Not an easy thing to build," Stiles got out on his side, too, "It's kind of hard when all the exercises you do don't feel like they count—like the fight we had today. That was something, right? Maybe all we need to do is come up with something that'll make her feel like she's really got to buckle down and get it under control."

"What, like a fake enemy?" Scott asked.

"Exactly like a fake enemy. One she doesn't know is fake—that's the important part." He held the door open for Scott, and the two of them got settled in one of the dive's barely-held-together faux leather chairs. "We'd make it so she always wins against whatever she's fighting, so she'll have the confidence to take on whatever comes her way when it's actually happening."

"…That could actually work," Scott admitted.

Stiles leaned back, satisfied with himself, "That's why I said it. We'd have to do some research and dig up a few supernaturals in Beacon Hills Kira doesn't know, but it could be worth it."

The two of them ordered the usual (also known as 'the grossest, most delicious tacos that a dine-in-dive could muster'), and sat in for a while. A few other kids dropped in, a few truckies making their way through the town, and Scott and Stiles went through their phones trying to draft up a threat that would be just convincing enough to work.

"What about a rogue werewolf?" Stiles asked, "We know a few omegas that could play the part. Give him some crazy motivation, set up some scenes around town…"

"I don't want to actually put anyone in danger." Scott countered, "If Kira can't control herself, she could really hurt someone."

Their waitress came by with a split check, and Scott and Stiles reached into their pockets in unison to pay their bills. "So, what?" Stiles continued, digging through his right pocket and then his left, "We can't just leave the clues around without an actual enemy for her to go up against—augh, damn it. Left my wallet in the car."

He patted his pockets, "Be right back."

Scott nodded at him, setting his own payment on the table. Stiles hopped down the front steps of the diner, hitting the unlock button on his keys before remembering the battery had died two years ago.

He walked around to the side of the place, finding his car exactly where he'd left it. The only thing that was new was the guy trying to use a coat-hanger to break into it.

"Hey! Hey, asshole! That's my car!" Stiles was practically jogging over, and leaned down to pick up the first thing he saw on the ground. It happened to be a half-broken beer bottle. He made like he was going to throw it, "Back off!"

The man turned around, revealing a gaunt face and wide eyes. He dropped the coat hanger, but pulled a small steak knife from the loop of his jeans. His hands didn't shake.

Stiles kept the bottle in his hand, grip tight, "Listen, buddy, you don't want to do this. You're probably high out of your mind right now," Seeing as he had the look of a heroin addict, "But you do not want to do this. I'm a high school student, does that car look like I have any money?"

The man said nothing in return, twisting the knife in his hand so that it could be brought down if needed. For a brief moment it was visible under the street-lamp, and Stiles saw that it wasn't a steak-knife at all. It was rough, black stone, crudely carved.

"Where's the Alpha?" The man slunk closer, "Where is Scott McCall?"


End file.
